Help
by AquaMaxis
Summary: When Hermione needs help, it comes from the least expected place. Dark D/Hr


A/N: I do no sequels, I appreciate reviews, CONSTRUCTIVE flames are okay, I don't care if you don't get the story.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing  
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Help  
by: Me  


  
  
Hermione slammed her books down onto the library table. Nothing was right. She had failed. Failed. Failed a test on ancient runes. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Her grades had recently taken a dip, and shocked everyone, including the hopelessly begging Ron for the answer to question thirty-seven. And her mood...it was so negative, and she hated it.  
  
She was stuck. Stressed out. Depressed. No potion or spell could help her. Hermione opened her book, trying to study her way through all of the depression. There was too much to do. Too much to live up by.  
  
The words swam in front of her eyes. They were fish in a sea of white. She blinked a few times, shook her head, then returned to her book. The letters danced at her, mimicking her, jumped out of their pages as if they wanted to tease her.  
  
She fell face forward, her forehead landing on the pages of the book. She breathed in it's woody scent, and relaxed for a second.  
  
"You know, stress can kill you."  
  
Hermione recognized the voice. "Shut up, Malfoy," she said into the book.  
  
"I knew you were obsessed with books, Granger, but I'd never thought you'd make out with one. Especially in a library."  
  
She immediately sat up. "Go away."  
  
"Sorry, I can't. My detention is alphabetizing all of the volumes about elves, and there seem to be about a thousand. Why're you here so late anyway?"  
  
"Can't sleep. Now go alphabetize."  
  
"Why? You're more fun."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'm going. You can sit here and die and I wouldn't care."  
  
Draco watched her gather her books and parchment. She turned, but Draco grabbed hold of her robes and pulled her to him. They were so close their noses could have touched. "You don't really mean that, Granger, do you?"  
  
"Why would I say something if I didn't mean it?" she hissed. "The world would be all but a happier place if you died." She tried to inch away, for standing so close to him was uncomfortable.  
  
"Well, in that case, I'd better change your mind," he breathed down her neck. He knew the closer he would get to her, the more panicked she would become.  
  
"Get away from me. I have to go." She broke free of his grip and quickly walked to the exit. She was almost out the door, when she pivoted slowly.  
  
Draco was still standing there, his cool grey eyes marked with expression of mystery. Hermione could see where he had slashed his wrists, there were scars on his arms. He still stood without a change of posture, his silver hair just inviting her to touch it, his muscular body singing to her.  
  
"Since when we you a wrist slasher?" he asked her, a note of interest on his voice. Apparently he had noticed her arms sometime too. She deceived that he had been watching her...observing her for some time now.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. I would never do something like that," she said, moving a slight bit toward him.  
  
"Yes you have. Just used a healing potion to cover them up, didn't you? Too ashamed to let anyone know, or too scared?"  
  
She gazed at him in such amazement. It was as if he jumped into her head.   
  
"See? You are. Just like me."  
  
Hermione grinded her teeth. "I'm not like you, Malfoy."  
  
"But you are." He tossed her a small knife. "You'd cut yourself if you had the chance. Now here's your chance."  
  
She looked at her wrists. The sudden urge to let blood flow came about, whispering it's traces in her mind. She tried to restrain, but the hunger was too great. She broke skin.  
  
Draco moved toward her. "I told you so."  
  
She could only watch the stream of blood dripping from her broken skin. After she cut herself, she usually felt calmness, relief. The problem flowed out of her like water. Red water. But this time, she only felt more depression.  
  
She raised to slash her other wrist, but a quick reflex of Draco's caught her hand before the knife's point met her skin.   
  
"So it's stopped working for you too?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "There's nothing else to do."  
  
"But there is."  
  
Draco let the knife hit the floor.   
  
He wrapped his arms around her waist, and planted a rather ungraceful kiss on her lips. Her arms flailed, then she cautiously slid her own arms around his neck. This wasn't wrong. This was right. This was perfectly right.  
  
His tongue parted her lips and met hers. She kissed him back tenderly, while moving closer to him, so they were together. Carefully, they leaned into a chair, Hermione on top of Draco, their kisses now so deep they almost hurt. He kissed her all over, and her breathing became harder. Draco ran his hands along her back, and touched her through her robes.   
  
"Stop..." she whimpered. Nervously she pushed him back. "This is only going to make it worse..."  
  
"How? How will it make your problem worse?"  
  
"It's your problem too!"  
  
"Did you notice I could restrain from that knife?" Draco said casually. "You were the one, not me."  
  
Hermione was silent. He was right, she was the weak one.  
  
"Then how did you stop?"  
  
"I wanted to show you, but you wouldn't let me." He exited the library, leaving a stunned Hermione alone, cold, and frightened.  
  
  
Everytime she saw him next day, he was occupied. There was Pansy on his right, Padma on the left, he could whip up those girls so fast she swore they were jointed by an invisible rope.  
  
And she dreamed of him. Graphic, beautiful, exotic dreams. She always woke up in a cold sweat, panting and grasping her blankets with a death grip. Then she would bring out the knife.  
  
Hermione returned to the library that night.  
  
"Back again."  
  
Draco dropped his books. "I never finished my detention from yesterday, so I got a weeks worth more."  
  
"Oh."  
  
She searched desperately for something to say. Her mind had gone absolutely blank. So she just watched him, shoving books into the wooden shelves, moving gracefully, stretching.  
  
Hermione melted. She was in love. With a stranger, a foe. A damned enemy. Why did she always have the worst luck in love?  
  
"You're too stubborn."  
  
She snapped out of her trance. "What?"  
  
"Stubborn. That's why I can't stand you. You never want to admit you're wrong."  
  
Hermione gave him an antagonizing look. "Neither do you!"  
  
He shrugged. "Hey, who does?"  
  
The dusky mellowed atmosphere of the library was invisible. Hermione could have thought of it as a ballroom, the moon's soft light flowing through an open window.  
  
"You think you're pretty hot, don't you Malfoy?" Hermione sneered.  
  
"Apparently," he pointed out, "So do you, Granger."  
  
She glared at him. "Just because you've got money, looks, and power doesn't mean...doesn't mean that your life is worth living."  
  
He hopped off the ladder he had been sorting on. "But isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you started to slash your wrists?"  
  
"For your information-"  
  
"I don't give a damn about information. And I'm starting to think the same thing about you," he said cruelly. "So if you would stop thinking you're better than I am and admit that we are really much alike, maybe you'd get better, but until then, fuck you, bitch."  
  
He once again abandoned his alphabetizing job and left.  
  
Hermione was alone again. The tears just poured out of her eyes. Why was she always so...touchy? Was he actually right? Was Malfoy actually right about something? Or was he just being the usual sinister Draco with nothing better to do than mock her?  
  
She rushed to the door, but he was already gone.  
  
  
Hermione crept back to the library the next night. Her faithful Draco was there, piling books upon books, the volumes reaching greater heights than him.  
  
She could watch him forever. Every movement she knew. How he would always crack his knuckles and look behind him everytime a creak or squeak emerged from elsewhere. Swore frequently.  
  
"What do you want, Granger?"  
  
She jumped surprised, and hit her head on the top of a desk, her hiding place.   
  
"Nice," he said boredly.  
  
Hermione bit her tongue. "I hope you know how hard it will be for me to do this," she said, matter-of-factly, while crawling out from under her desk.  
  
"Fine. I know. Now go."  
  
She glanced sideways doubtfully. "I slightly believe there's any truth in that, but why bother?"  
  
"C'mon Granger. I want to hear you suffer."  
  
She sighed. "I want you to help me."  
  
"Take off the 'to help me' and I would understand," Draco said dully.  
  
"Ha ha. Draco, I'm serious. I really need your...guidance. Please..." she begged. "You know I'll end up killing myself."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "You wanted me to die. Why shouldn't I wish the same of you? Twice I tried to help you. And twice you rejected me."  
  
"That's because I was stupid."  
  
"I can't argue with that."  
  
Hermione stifled. "So do we have a deal?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "You know."  
  
Hermione wore a confused look. "How could I possibly know? It's you that has to agree with this plan..."  
  
"Okay, fine. You don't know. Now go."  
  
Hermione was outraged. "You bastard! You're just playing with me. I'm not that dim, you know!"  
  
"You just admitted you were stupid."  
  
She glared at him. "Unlike you, Malfoy, I choose to live in the present, rather then relying on what's already happened."  
  
"Then you don't need me. You'd be perfectly all right."  
  
Draco stood with fortitude. He was right, he always found a situation that she had messed up on and used it as a shield, playing unfairly at their little game. Bull, he had mastered the art.  
  
Hermione without warning threw her arms around him and started crying in uncontrollable fits of anger. Surprised, Draco gently squeezed her back.  
  
"My life's not-" Hermione tried to force words through her sobs, "My life's not perfect either! I-" she gulped, "I was raped-" she took a few deep breaths. "And didn't tell anyone..." Hermione raged, her words stuck in a frenzy. "And why I decided to tell you has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done!"  
  
"No...keep going." Draco said calmly.   
  
"I was scared, and didn't know what to do-and then I started to cut myself, and then everything just got worse."  
  
Draco looked at Hermione. She was so small, not exactly sexy or cute, but she was beautiful. In her own way.   
  
And she was feeling pain. Pain he had felt, pain when his father would beat him and when he would put dark curses on him. Acting like he loved him, but really didn't, just used him as a showtoy and taught him evil things. Made him do stuff.   
  
"Why me? Why did you want to help me?" Hermione asked him a bit later, when she had settled down a bit.  
  
"I...I don't know. I just got sick of being me. And I liked you. For some strange reason, I liked you."  
  
"But you could have any of those other girls..."  
  
"But they didn't make me feel...I just...they weren't me."  
  
Hermione bit her tongue. "I know that feeling. They say opposites attract, don't they?" she joked.  
  
"I don't think we're that different," Draco said solemnly. "Actually, I think we're pretty much on the same lines here. Pity, never took the time to realize that before."  
  
"I suppose you're right..." Hermione said.   
  
The moon cast a beam of glowing light through the open window in the library. It struck Hermione, silhouetting her facial features and painting them white. She rubbed her hands together briskly and pressed them to her mouth.  
  
"Cold?" Draco said.  
  
She nodded. Cautiously, she moved to Draco, leaning into his arm, and he hung it over her shoulder.  
  
"Why didn't you just talk to Potter or Weasley?" Draco implored. "I'd've thought you would run to them first, instead of me."  
  
"I couldn't...not about something like this, anyway."  
  
It was silent. A howl could be heard floating outside, and the wind rustled leaves of nearby trees.   
  
"Who raped you, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione stared straight ahead. Her breathing could be heard, lightly becoming quieter for each breath. She closed her eyes. "You won't believe me..."   
  
"I probably won't."  
  
"Then I'm not telling you."  
  
"You never intended to in the first place, I believe."   
  
Hermione relaxed and let her muscles release tension that had been stored for weeks. "I'd best be going..."  
  
"Then go."  
  
"Can I tell you something first?"  
  
"If you must."  
  
Hermione took a few deep breaths, then with all of her courage, she blurted, "I love you," just like a child to her mother.  
  
He smiled, a rare oddity, for an even rarer occasion. "Goodbye, then."  
  
  
Hermione practically flitted to the library that night. She was anxious to see Draco. Her body didn't seem to notice the oblivious lack of sleep and her brain overlooked the decline of reading. Love could do that to a person.  
  
She waited. Patiently. Nervously. Intolerantly. Why wasn't he here?  
  
The volumes of elves lay scrambled in their usual places, the ladder sitting, waiting the arrival of Draco's feet.  
  
But he never came.  
  
  
A fortnight passed. Draco had vanished from the school. Search parties invaded the school and the Ministry even showed up. Draco's father threatened to kill if they didn't find his precious son.  
  
And Hermione cried, letting the tears soak her robes. Alone in the library, she picked up the knife he had sworn her off of. He was gone, and she had no help. If she couldn't have him, she didn't need anyone else. She didn't _want _anyone else.  
  
But a piece of parchment was tied to the knife in a delicate gold ribbon. Her fingers unwound it, shaking as if freezing.  
  
Hermione:  
  
This is what happens when you slash your wrists. People that you love go out of your life. You had to find that out the hard way.  
  
  
Hermione wailed. He was forever departed from her. She was about to take that evil knife and stab it right through her already broken heart, when her eyes skimmed the bottom of the paper.  
  
PS. I love you, too.  
  
  
Her eyes, flooded with salty tears, her heart beating a thousand times a minute, was silenced. She put down the knife and walked away, as if nothing had ever happened at all.  
  
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